Join Together
by phoenixnz
Summary: Jane investigates the disappearance of a young girl in Las Vegas and meets Nick Stokes - this is set in 2010. The two must deal with their own emotional issues while they try to uncover the truth behind two murders. NB: Child abuse is mentioned as background. Nothing graphic. Just a warning for possible triggers.
1. Prologue

Prologue - February

The girl was bleeding profusely. She stood in the darkness, struggling, holding her stomach. The rain was pouring down and she was wet. She was in a lot of pain as she trudged through the water to the large building. She knocked on the door.

"Please, please help me," she said, her voice hoarse.

A security guard came to the door, took one look at her and opened the door, calling for a nurse. The young girl looked gratefully at the man, then collapsed, no longer able to stand up against the massive injuries.

A nurse at the charity hospital came forward. She quickly assessed the situation and called for a gurney.

"Looks like massive internal injuries. She's about eight months pregnant."

"Prepare the OR. Let's see if we can save the baby, or both."

The nurse looked at the doctor. Their expressions suggested neither one of them had any hope of saving mother and baby.

April

"We're desperate, sir," the couple said, looking at Jarod. "The police say she's a runaway and they aren't looking for her."

Jarod looked at the photo in his hand. Parker looked over his shoulder, her grip gentle.

"She was twelve when that was taken," George Marshall said. "It was her birthday. Two years ago."

"When did she disappear?"

"A couple of months later. Look, we'll pay you anything. Just please, help us find our daughter. We talked to a woman named Susan Granger. She said you could help. She told us all about you."

Susan Granger. Now that was a name Jarod knew well. She had tried to help him find his parents while he had been trying to solve the murder of a young man she had reunited with his father. Jarod did consulting work for her occasionally now. Using his expertise to help other families whose loved ones were missing.

Parker looked sympathetically at the couple, both in their late thirties. Her hand tightened on his shoulder.

"We don't need your money," she said softly. She looked at her husband. "Should we get Jane to do this? It's only been a couple of months since ..."

Jane had been in Metropolis until February, working on a plan to stop a friend being exploited for his abilities. It was very similar to what they had all gone through at The Centre. During the months she had been there, she had fallen hard for Oliver Queen, the playboy billionaire. From what Jarod had learned, Oliver had fallen just as hard for his sister. But Jane had kept certain elements of her plan from her boyfriend and he'd felt as if she had lied and manipulated.

Jane had returned wiser for the experience but she had been unhappy until Jarod had offered her a job doing what she had been trained for in The Centre. But this would be her first case, and neither Jarod nor Parker were sure how she would handle it. She still had trouble with human emotions.

Jane had been working again with Sydney, the psychiatrist who had been Jarod's teacher in The Centre. He had helped her get over her heartbreak. And while she could be aloof and abrasive, Jarod knew that he had to trust her. She had, after all, planned the entire thing in Metropolis, and had pulled it off without anyone getting seriously injured – hurt feelings aside.

Jarod looked at his wife. "I think it would be good for her." He looked at the couple. "We'll need everything from the time Nicole disappeared. Phone records, internet records. You said you bought her a computer?"

George nodded. "She was online every night."

Jarod nodded. "I'll get our computer analyst, Broots, to go over the computer records." He looked kindly at the couple "We'll find out what's happened to her. I promise."

The mother, Anne, looked timid. "Will you tell us, even if it's bad?"

"Of course," Jarod said. He knew what it was like to hope for something and to have those hopes dashed. But it was better than not knowing at all.


	2. Crime Scene: Las Vegas May

It was going to be another long night in downtown Vegas. Nick Stokes sighed heavily. He'd been called to a DB in an area the natives often called Hooker Alley. Langston was already on the scene when he got out of the SUV and pulled his toolkit with him, striding slowly toward the police cordon. He lifted the tape, nodding to the on-duty cop and approached Langston.

"What've we got?" he asked.

"Male, early twenties." Langston had hauled out a camera and was busy taking photos of the scene. Nick crouched down next to the body where David Phillips was checking body temp.

"Well?" Nick asked.

"Hard to say for sure. It's a warm night. Maybe an hour."

"You guessing?" Nick glared at David. He was in a bad mood tonight, and in no mood for the bespectacled man's 'educated guesses'. David nodded toward Brass, who was standing talking to a witness. Nick rose and walked up to the plainclothes cop.

Brass was still talking to a large woman.

"Right, anything else you can tell me?"

"Sorry officer."

Brass sighed. "Okay thanks."

"But you can call me. I might remember somethin' else," the woman said, clearly enamoured with the police detective.

Brass nodded. "Yeah, thanks." He looked up at Nick. "Nicky. Witness says she saw the vic arguing with a woman about an hour ago."

"David thinks the vic was killed about then. Any idea who this woman is?"

Brass shook his head. Nick began looking around the scene, hoping to find something that might be useful. Nothing. Not even an ATM or street camera. Nick went back to the DB and began his examination of the scene. The blood spatter on the concrete showed the vic had died where he had been hit. David's best guess was 'blunt force trauma'.

"Gee, you think?" Nick said, sarcasm creeping into his voice. He sighed again. It was going to be a real long night. He and Langston worked together to process the scene, but there wasn't much to process. The murder weapon was sitting right beside the body. A lead pipe.

As Nick continued to process, he glanced up occasionally toward Brass, who was continuing to talk to witnesses. The expression on his face showed he wasn't getting very far either. Suddenly, the large woman from before returned and grabbed Brass' arm excitedly.

"I saw her. The woman who was arguing with that man. I saw her."

Brass glanced at Nick, who immediately got up and went to join him.

"Where?" Brass said to his witness.

The woman kept a hold on his arm. "I'll show you."

Nick and the homicide captain followed the woman to a small bar, less than half a kilometre from the crime scene. She stood in the doorway and pointed out a woman with dark brown hair drinking coffee at the bar.

"I was just passing by, on my way home, you know, and I saw her duck in here. That's why I came to get you."

Brass nodded. "Good work, Loretta," he said, turning to Nick with a grin. The woman was practically salivating at the fact that not only had she been able to help police in a homicide, but the policeman had remembered her name.

Nick snickered softly and followed Brass into the bar. He shook his head at the audacity of the woman, but supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Killers often hung around the scene of the crime. Brass stood one side of the woman while Nick stood the other. As she looked up, he was struck by the beauty of the woman's face. The woman could have been a model – her face could not have been more symmetrical, more perfect if she'd tried.

He estimated she was aged somewhere around thirty, maybe thirty-one or thirty-two. Slim, athletic build, tall, with long legs. His eyes did a quick appraisal of the woman and he was surprised when her eyes did an appraisal of him in turn.

"Something I can help you with?" she asked calmly, looking him over. "CSI Stokes?"

She obviously knew that he didn't officially hold any rank with the police department. She'd also obviously seen the lettering on his jacket, signifying him as a crime scene investigator, as well as his name tag.

Brass caught her attention. "Brass, homicide," he said, showing her his badge. "You are?"

"Jane Smith," she said coolly, looking now at the older man. "Let me guess. You're here because someone saw me arguing with a man, who I presume, is now the subject of a homicide investigation. Am I correct?"

Nick had blanched at the name, 'Jane Smith' wondering if that was her real name. As she turned to him again, with those curiously appraising eyes, he wondered what else she knew.

"We'd like you to accompany us to the police station, Miss Smith," Brass continued.

"It's Ms, actually. And I'd be happy to accompany you." She touched his badge. "Captain," she added, with a quick smile at Nick who watched her with narrowed eyes. He was concerned that even though her smile appeared genuine, her eyes remained cold.


	3. Playing Verbal Chess

An hour later, Nick was back at the lab. He made a quick visit to Al Robbins in the morgue.

"No surprises here," the bearded man said. "Blunt force trauma to the back of the head."

"How tall would you say the killer would have to be to hit that high?" Nick asked, looking at the large indentation in the skull.

"Probably close to six feet. At least the same height as the vic. You got something?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Thanks doc."

Nick joined Brass in the interrogation room where he again had to face the cool smile of Ms Jane Smith. Other officers were running checks on the woman's identification and fingerprints. But Nick could see from the woman's expression that she had no concerns about that whatsoever.

"A witness saw you and the victim arguing around the same time we believe he was killed," Brass was saying.

Jane sat back, leaning casually against the back of the chair.

"I don't deny it. But I didn't kill him."

Nick watched as she uncrossed her legs and crossed them again the other way. He saw she was wearing high-heeled boots which added at least two inches to her height, which he guessed was already around five ten.

"How tall are you?" he asked her.

"One point seven eight metres. Give or take."

He was right. About five ten.

"Can I see your boots?" he asked.

Jane smirked and leaned forward, putting both feet on the floor and slowly unzipping each boot and handing them to Nick.

"Now, if I had done the killing, don't you think I would have at least wiped any traces of blood spatter or, I don't know, tissue, off my boots before going off to calmly sip a cup of coffee in a bar?"

"I don't know," Brass answered. "Would you?"

"How was he killed, may I ask?"

"You can ask, but maybe you can tell us."

She sat back and looked at them both as Nick examined each boot for any signs from the crime scene. He could only see the usual debris picked up from the street. But he took impressions and swabs anyway.

Jane was silent for a few moments. "I'm guessing whatever happened, it was a silent killing. Your killer must have surprised him, otherwise he would have called out. I know it's a bad area, but someone would have heard something, and if I'm your only suspect, I'd say he was dead for at least an hour before you guys were called in." She took a deep breath. "Let's see. There are several ways to kill a guy quickly and without too much noise. Strangulation, garrotting, suffocation." She was watching their reactions carefully and while they were not giving anything away with their body language, she had the impression it was none of those.

"So, I would say he was hit with something. Something hard enough that he would only need to be hit once. Clean. No muss, no fuss." She slapped a hand on the table. "There were construction materials close by. Lead piping." Brass had schooled his features into a frown that gave nothing away, but she caught the sharp intake of breath from Stokes. "I'm right, aren't I? He was hit in the back of the head with a lead pipe."

"And you'd know that because you killed him," Brass said, confirming her theory.

Jane sighed. Of course they would think that.

"No, I'm just very good at Clue," she said with a sarcastic smirk. "You know, the Colonel, in the study with the pipe wrench." She sighed, glaring at both of them. "I happen to be a genius. Smarter than both of you."

Nick looked at her self-satisfied smirk and wondered what she'd be like in a verbal sparring match with Gil Grissom. God, he missed that man sometimes. Now there was a genius, he thought.

Jane Smith struck him as pretty arrogant. She was clearly so sure of her own intellectual superiority. He was convinced she'd done it. But as he glanced at Brass, he knew all they had was circumstantial evidence. Not proof.

"What were you and the victim arguing about?"

Jane looked at Nick. "He had a name, you know," she said, showing signs of irritation. "Don't keep referring to him as 'the victim'. It's very demeaning."

Nick felt he'd hit a sore spot with her, but he decided not to pursue that angle. Even if the thought of getting her riled up made him think he could get her to confess something. Brass looked at his file.

"Vic's name was Matthew Elliott," he told Nick. The younger man nodded and looked back at the woman.

"Okay, so what were you and Mr Elliott arguing about?"

"Is this where you play good cop bad cop?" she said, amused.

Nick scowled. This woman was blowing hot and cold and he didn't like it one bit.

"Just answer the question, Ms Smith," he said, putting emphasis on the 'Ms'.

"I'm a journalist. I'm working on a story about child prostitution. I believed Mr Elliott could answer my questions. So I went to his apartment building and found him on the street outside having a smoke."

"And could he? Answer your questions, I mean," Nick said.

"At the time, no. He was being extremely un-co-operative and I got pissed off. I took a walk to cool down and rethink things and by the time I returned to the area he was dead and cops were all over the place."

"How long were you walking around?" Nick asked, while Brass asked at the same time:

"You working for a newspaper or magazine?"

Jane looked at Brass and answered his question first. "I'm freelance. I get paid when the story gets published. I'm not affiliated with any magazine in particular. I write the story, then I submit it." She turned to Nick. "To answer your question, I walked around for about half an hour, then I went to get a coffee at the same bar you picked me up at. I drank it, paid for it, left the bar and got back to the street. That was about an hour after I left him. And the cops were already on the scene."

"You expect us to believe that?"

She shrugged. "Believe what you want. But I'm sure the evidence will tell the real story."

Bitch, Nick thought. She seemed to have an answer for everything. She was one cool customer. And judging on that character assessment alone, well capable of committing murder.

"Why were you wanting to talk to Mr Elliott about the story?" Brass asked.

She gave him a look as if to say: 'you really expect me to answer that'?

"It's hardly relevant now, is it? The man's dead."

"Humour me," Brass smirked.

"I believed he was involved, to some extent." She half sighed, half growled. "Are we going to play this game all night? I mean, I've got nothing better to do, but shouldn't you guys be out there trying to find the real killer instead of wasting my time?"

"You're still a suspect."

"You've got a witness who I would say is unreliable at best. Your friend, Loretta," she said with a wink at Brass, "only heard Elliott shouting at me. She didn't see me kill him, so that means unless you find some physical evidence linking me to the murder weapon you got zip, zilch, nada, nothing. In other words, zero. So do your worst, Captain. Try and find something to hold me. But the only thing you'll find on me is a couple of speeding tickets." She smirked again and that really pissed Nick off. "I do like my cars hot and fast," she added with another wink. "A bit like my men."

Nick cleared his throat noisily as she looked him up and down. He was blushing. He could feel the heat spreading over his body. Goddamnit, he was forty years old and too old to blush, but she was getting to him.

"I'd like my boots back," she told Nick. "And unless you have a warrant, there is no way I'm giving you the clothes off my back."

He looked up, realising she had got up from the table and was standing over him. He glanced at Brass. They had no physical evidence and no warrant. Brass sighed and gestured. Give her the boots, his expression said. She put them on and walked to the door.

"I'd say it's been a pleasure, but ... Good luck, Gentlemen. I do hope you find your killer."

Shit, Nick thought as he watched her walk out the door. Guess it was back to the drawing board.


	4. Examining the Evidence

The fingerprints showed nothing. She had no record. The driver's licence she had handed over did yield exactly the result she said it would. Two speeding tickets. Both out of town. Both for driving too fast. The tickets had been paid without fuss. Nick did wonder if it was something she did frequently – she just hadn't been caught for it. She certainly seemed unrepentant about that. The only anomaly it did show was that her occupation was 'self-employed'. She certainly didn't like to give much away.

Nick went looking for Langston to see what he'd turned up. The victim's clothes had yielded surprising results. It had been raining heavily most of the evening, but Langston had managed to find a couple of foreign materials on the man's coat. When they were examined closely for their chemical breakdowns, Nick saw that one of them was a cheap narcotic, while the other turned out to be skin.

Doc Robbins had called him back, telling him he'd found bruising on the victim's torso. Like the man had got into a fight with someone. All well before the man's death, the doc said. But not more than an hour before.

A day later, they were still waiting for DNA results on the skin sample. Greg was complaining about a backlog and unlike the erstwhile supervisor Grissom, Nick didn't have a lot of power in that area. So his was bottom of the list.

Nick had to assume that if they were wrong about Jane Smith's involvement, then it was more than likely that the person Elliott had fought with was the real killer. He decided to talk to Catherine about his concerns about the woman.

"Is this really because you think she's a killer, or because she got to you Nick?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," he said sulkily to the woman.

"Come on Nicky. It's me. You never like it when a woman blows your cool."

"I'm not ..."

"Nicky, I know you like women. And you're not sexist. But you just told me this woman had an answer for everything and maybe, just maybe, you're a little bit miffed that she appeared to be way smarter than you. And Nicky, I know you're a smart guy. This is no reflection on your intellectual abilities, but it sounds to me like this woman was way out of your league and you didn't know how to handle it."

"Yeah, maybe."

"And maybe you just want her to be guilty because of that."

He sighed and nodded. Catherine always had a way of putting a different perspective on things.

"Listen, Nicky, I've been meaning to talk to you. You doing okay?"

"Fine, why?"

"I don't know. You just seem a little, I don't know, out of sorts lately. You don't talk much, to me, or Brass, I mean, unless it's work stuff, and we're your friends, you know? Your family. You know you can talk to us about anything."

"Yeah, Cath, I know. I just don't feel like talking."

The truth was, Nick hadn't felt much like anything since Grissom had left. Grissom might not have been the best 'people person' but he had a way about him that was almost comforting to the younger man. Lately, all Nick felt like doing was working, and he was pulling a lot of double shifts. He didn't feel like going home to an empty apartment, with no friends to talk to. At least at work, he could concentrate on something, rather than that empty space at the lunch table that often spoke volumes. It had been nearly two years, but he still felt his friend's absence deeply.


	5. Fair Trade

Chapter Four: Fair trade

Another day passed and they were still no closer to identifying the killer. Nick decided to take a break and clear his head. But as luck would have it, he was walking out the door when he bumped into Jane Smith.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, then immediately mentally kicked himself for sounding like an interrogator. The last thing he wanted was to get her on the defensive.

"Checking up on some records. Heading out?"

"Yeah."

"Any luck?" she asked, falling into step beside him. He looked at her. She really was a very beautiful woman. And he'd dated his share.

"Nothing yet," he said, not wanting to give anything away. He stopped walking and looked at her. "Why are you so interested anyway?" he asked.

Jane bit her lip as she looked him up and down, then blinked slowly. She sighed. She was getting nowhere on her investigation, since her one lead was dead. Maybe she should come clean with this guy. She figured he might actually be open to helping if she told him the truth. "Look, I tell you what, you buy me dinner and I'll talk."

"What?"

"Fair trade," she said. "Dinner for information."

"We don't work like that. It's not like we have an expense account to pay for information."

"I'm a cheap date," she said with a smirk. "I'll even spring for extra fries."

Nick frowned. "Huh?"

She gestured with her head across the street to a diner the gang had often frequented. Before Sara had left, before Grissom had gone, before ...

"Uh, no," Nick said, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat. "Let's go somewhere else."

She shrugged. "Your dime."

There was another diner a short walk away. Nick watched as she ordered a double cheeseburger with extra fries and onion rings. And soda. The sodas were delivered first. She held up her glass and clinked it with his. "To cheap dates."

She watched as Stokes sort of grimaced at her attempt at humour. Jane didn't think she told bad jokes. But then again, maybe it had something to do with her manner. She had spent the last two months getting over a man she had thought could be the love of her life and the method she had chosen hadn't exactly been popular. She had cut off all thoughts of Oliver Queen and decided not to feel anything. She'd given away her heart.

She wasn't completely insensitive though. If there was one thing that being a Pretender had taught her, it was to be sensitive to other people's emotions. And sitting in the booth opposite her was a man in pain. Maybe he hadn't acknowledged it. But she'd seen the expression on his face when she'd pointed out the other diner. And she had learned over the years to read body language very well. He'd tensed up, and his body had shown a reaction to pain.

She'd done her research after that little show and tell in the interrogation room. She knew everything there was to know about Nick Stokes. He lived alone, hadn't dated in months, didn't belong to any social organisations, and spent most of his time working. And most of that had started the night Warrick Brown had died.

A CSI like Stokes, Brown had been a particularly close friend of Stokes. He'd been shot nearly two years ago by a rogue cop, who had earlier been part of a scheme to frame Brown. Two years was an awful long time to grieve, but Stokes had more reason than most. Not just because of Brown. He'd been kidnapped, held hostage on a couple of occasions. And there had been several incidents over the years where he had looked down the barrel of a gun. The first time, he had reportedly been terrified. The second time, he had tried to talk the gunman down. For several incidents after that, he had been curiously calm. But the last time had been not long after Warrick's death, and he shook for days. Gil Grissom had been supervisor then and he had told Nick to take a leave of absence. Nick had refused, claiming work would help calm him. But colleagues had noted that Nick Stokes had become more withdrawn as time went by. Especially after Grissom had left.

Clearly, he was depressed. But Jane felt it was more than that. He was angry. At himself. At the man who'd killed his friend. At Grissom for leaving when he'd needed him. Not that there had been anything between the two but almost a father-son relationship. Nick Stokes was a sensitive guy who often felt a lot of empathy for victims. But his empathy had turned inward – almost the opposite of what had happened to Angelo, her brother's friend from The Centre.

Jane pushed aside her appraisal of the man as the food arrived. She attacked her cheeseburger with relish and noted with amusement the look of surprise on Stokes' face.

"Something on my face?" she asked.

"Sorry, it's just, very few people surprise me. But, uh ..."

"You've never seen someone eat a cheeseburger before?"

"No, not that."

She grinned suddenly. "I never had cheeseburgers when I was growing up. We weren't allowed."

Nick frowned. What kind of parents would not allow their kid to eat a cheeseburger? He might have been the youngest in his family, and his parents might have been wealthy lawyers, but he still got to eat cheeseburgers!

He ate a few fries and looked at the woman. She certainly was a strange one. But he hadn't come here to watch her eat. He wanted to know what she had to tell him.

"So, what did you have to tell me?" he asked finally.

Jane chewed thoughtfully on a French fry. Then she looked at him. He did deserve the truth, she thought. And it might help her investigation if she got him on side.

"Your boy, Elliott, was involved in a lot more than child prostitution. Not that I could actually prove that," she added.

"What do you know?"

He watched as Jane dug in her briefcase, which she'd placed on the seat beside her, and pulled out a photograph of a pretty girl, aged about twelve. The girl wore glasses and had an overbite, but she was extremely pretty.

"Name's Nicole Marshall. She vanished from her home in LA two years ago. Her parents went to the police and they told her the chances of finding their daughter were pretty slim. From all appearances, Nicole was a runaway."

"Was she?"

Jane shook her head. "No. She was lured away. By the man now lying on a slab in your morgue. At least, that's what it looked like."

She launched into the story. Nicole had been a popular kid at school. Bright and bubbly, she had a lot of friends. On her twelfth birthday, her parents had bought her a computer and hooked it up to the internet. She began spending a lot of time chatting to friends online. Her parents began to notice she was spending more of her time on the net than socialising. She became withdrawn. Two months after her birthday, she ran away.

The Marshalls had contacted police, who looked at the computer but couldn't find anything untoward in the emails, except for the fact that she had been talking to a young man, aged about seventeen or eighteen, or so it said on his internet profile. It had all seemed completely harmless but police had tried to track the young man down. After eighteen months of no word, in despair, the adults had contacted the Onyssius Foundation. The Foundation's experts had gone over the emails with a fine-toothed comb and had read between the lines. They realised that Elliott had lured the young girl away from home.

"How do you know about this foundation?" Nick asked. He himself had never heard of it. Jane hesitated, taking a deep breath and he realised he better listen up.

"I'm not a journalist," Jane told him. "I use that as a cover. It saves too many questions. I work for the Foundation. My brother Jarod runs it. It's actually pretty much a family organisation. We managed to trace Elliott here, to Las Vegas."

"How?"

"Facial recognition software. Jarod's pretty thorough. And Broots – he's our computer analyst, well our main one anyway. He pretty much keeps working at something until he gets a hit. We found out about Nicole a month ago."

"Really?"

Jane's expression sobered. "She turned up in a charity hospital just outside of Reno three months ago. Fourteen years old and eight months pregnant."

Nick almost choked on his soda.

"Shit!" No kid should ever have to go through that. "Do you think Elliott ..."

"No. I think Elliott was just as much a puppet in this as a lot of the kids he lured out."

"So what happened to Nicole and her baby?"

"Nicole was beaten. That's how she ended up in the hospital. She had severe internal injuries. She was in labour when she entered those hospital doors begging for someone to help her. An hour later, she gave birth to a girl. Stillborn. An hour after that, she was dead."

"If she'd been beaten, why didn't someone inform the police?"

"They were called. An autopsy was ordered, but either there was no investigation or the file's gone missing. No one seems to be able to find it."

"So, when you were talking to Elliott ..."

"I was trying to find out who he was working for. Jarod and I suspect that Nicole was involved in prostitution. And she's not the only one. So far, we've managed to rescue three children from the streets. But none of them are talking about who did this to them."

"Where are they now?"

"They're at the Foundation in LA. Jarod has a friend who is a retired psychiatrist. He advises Jarod on cases like these, and they're working with the kids to try to help them get back to some semblance of a normal life."

Jane sighed. "Look, about the other day. I know I was acting like a bitch. I mean, you were just doing your job. But I didn't kill Elliott, and I don't know who did."

"How did you know all that stuff then, about how he was killed?"

"I'm fairly observant, and I am a genius," she said with a smirk. Nick couldn't help but chuckle at that.

Jane looked at him as he laughed. For a moment, he seemed relaxed. Almost as if he could forget his troubles for a little while. She reached over the table and touched his hand gently. He pulled away defensively.

"Nick, I can help you find your killer. Hell, I want him too. But I need you to listen to me now. I know you're in pain. And I think I know why. And it's slowly killing you. You have to promise me you'll talk to someone about this."

His face darkened as he stared at her. He was angry, thinking she was prying. He began to pull away in earnest.

"You don't know the first thing about me," he said.

"I know you still grieve for your friend." She paused. "I did some research on you. Nick, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry into something that is obviously very personal, but I could sense you were in pain and I wanted to know why. I thought I could help."

"I don't need your help."

"Nick, please trust me when I say I understand how you feel. Something, some terrible things were done to me when I was growing up and to be honest, my family believes I'm still not completely over it. Maybe I never will be. I mean, the reason I act the way I do is because I chose to push my emotions away. To not feel anything. For someone like you, that can only be destructive. You have to deal with this, sooner or later. If you don't, you'll end up hurting not just yourself, but your friends too."

He was still resisting. Getting angrier by the second.

"I don't want to talk about this with you," he said.

Jane just kept a tight grip on his hand. "Then who are you going to talk about it with? If not your friends, then sometimes it's better to lay it on a complete stranger. And trust me, I can take it. I don't judge and I'm a pretty good listener."

Nick got up, throwing some bills on the table. He hadn't even finished eating.

"Just stay out of my business, all right?"

Jane sighed and watched him leave. He was a broken man and she didn't know how to deal with this.


	6. Brotherly Advice

She decided to go back to the small apartment she had rented and call the one person she knew could help.

"Hey Syd," she said, when his face appeared on the video screen.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She told him about Nick Stokes.

"People deal with grief in different ways," Sydney told her after he heard the whole story.

"That's just it. He's not dealing with it. He's bottled it up inside for the last two years. All the shit that's happened to him over the last decade has finally caught up with him. And I'm afraid it's just going to damage him permanently."

"You can't force him Jane."

"But I need to keep him from self-destructing."

"It isn't your place, love. He doesn't know you."

"Should I tell him? About the Centre?"

"Do you want to?"

She sighed. "Yes. And no. I mean, he's seen some horrors in his time. I think he'd understand. But I also don't think he's ready to hear about something like this."

"Then you have your answer." Sydney's smile was soft, full of tenderness for the young woman whose mind he'd tried to save in those awful months after the destruction of the Centre – the only home she'd ever really known.

It had been a struggle for her to come to terms with what she was. All those years, trapped in the Centre, she had never known any other life. Then the Centre had faced bankruptcy, all because Jarod had escaped, turned the horrible things the people had done to him in that Blue Cove facility into a way to help others. Because he had been the best Pretender, the Centre lost money. They'd lost their golden goose and clients dropped off.

Then someone else had come along and tried to use the facility to rebuild, start again, but Jarod had discovered the plan and foiled it. He had been startled to learn that he had a younger sister – born from frozen embryos left by their parents at NuGenesis, the fertility clinic which had also been owned by the Centre. Jane had been kept in a satellite facility on the bottom of the world, never knowing that she had family out there. Never knowing the love of a parent or a sibling.

But all that had changed almost a year ago. Jane still had difficulties, despite the intense therapy sessions with the psychiatrist, trying to fit in, to gain some semblance of normalcy. She had chosen to let go of the intense roller coaster of emotions she had felt when she had first begun to allow herself to experience her own emotions, rather than those of her pretends. But it was difficult to get out of the mindset of being in other people's heads – of trying to discover what they were feeling and thinking.

Sydney was looking at her.

"Jarod needs to talk to you."

Jane needed, then waited as her brother came on the screen.

"What?" she said, having picked up that habit from his wife, who still sometimes answered the phone that way.

"I know why Nicole ran away. Turns out she was bullied at school but couldn't tell her parents about it."

"It doesn't explain how she ended up in Vegas, though. It just explains why she went with Elliott."

"What do the police know about Elliott's death?"

"From what I can gather from the CSI's they still have no leads on the killer. Other than me as the prime suspect, of course. I guess my attitude didn't help." She'd told him about the interrogation.

"Yeah, you need to get a handle on that."

"Gee, thanks for the advice big brother. A little late. Don't worry. I handled Stokes."

"I heard. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved Jane. You should know that better than anyone."

"Is that a dig in my direction big brother? I never asked to be saved you know."

Jarod sighed. Jane was a lot like him in many ways. In spite of everything that had happened in Metropolis, she had tried to save Oliver from the darkness within. She had repaired his friendship with Clark Kent by showing the younger man just how it felt to walk a mile in his blonde friend's shoes. Sydney had even suggested that perhaps Jane had decided that she couldn't save herself, couldn't find her own humanity within herself and the only way to come to terms with that was to save others. Jarod had felt that same need, although his humanity was stronger than hers.

"And it sounds like the same for this Nick Stokes. I read his file. He has a lot of issues. I don't think it's something you can handle."

"Maybe not, but I can at least empathise. Look, Jarod, we're not here to discuss my pathological need to save someone other than myself. What about the kids we rescued? Have they said anything?"

Jarod shook his head. "We've tried to get through to them, but they're afraid."

"You think maybe they've been brainwashed or something?"

She remembered a similar case a few years ago Jarod had been involved in when a man had kidnapped young boys, luring them out through internet chats, and brainwashed them into believing they were someone else.

"I don't think this is similar. I think these kids have just been badly scared."

He didn't say it but she knew he was thinking it. Like Nicole, they may have been raped, or worse. She closed her hand into a tight fist, thinking what she would like to do to the guy who had done this to these kids. But anger was a useless emotion – self-destructive, and she pushed it away.

She flicked off the monitor, then sat back, going over the case in her mind. If Nicole Marshall had been autopsied, someone at the morgue had to know about it. The young girl's body had been cremated, so there was no chance of an exhumation.

Jane decided to pay a visit to Dr Robbins to see what he could tell her. Unfortunately, security measures meant she wasn't allowed in his examination room, so she had to resort to meeting him in a tiny office. She handed him the photo of the girl.

"The police say there is no file on the autopsy. Or they won't release it." She wasn't going to tell him that she had hacked into the morgue's computer files to look for it, only to find it didn't exist. "Are you able to tell me if any one on your staff worked on this girl? It would have been three months ago."

"Why are you asking me this now? Does it have anything to do with the young man who was murdered three days ago?"

Oh, he was very astute, this doctor. "Yes," she admitted. "It has everything to do with him. This girl was involved with him in some way although I've yet to prove the connection." She explained that she had been working on the case for a little while, and had only managed to track Nicole's whereabouts a month earlier. That was when she had learned about the girl's death.

Robbins looked thoughtful.

"I remember a Jane Doe about three months ago. A young girl, about that age. Are you sure there's no file on her?"

Jane nodded. "Very. Did you work on this Jane Doe?"

"No. But I know who did. Give me a few hours and I can track him down for you."

"That would be great."


	7. A New Lead

Nick had been busy in the lab, analysing more of the victim's clothes. Langston had managed to pick up some epithelials – obviously from the fight prior to Elliott's death. Greg was working on the DNA results. Nick left what he was doing when he was paged by the younger man.

"Am I good or what?" Greg said smugly. Nick sighed. After his argument with Jane, he was in no mood for Greg and his ego.

"What did you find Greg?" he asked tersely.

Greg gave him a strange look. Normally the two men got on pretty well, but Nick had been in a worse mood than usual. The truth was, he was lately being nicknamed Grissom junior because of his attitude. Nick had become fairly withdrawn in the last couple of years. They all knew why, of course. No one had been closer to Warrick Brown than Nick. But no one on staff dared call him on his temper.

Nick knew what they were calling him. But some small part of him didn't care. He just wanted to get on with the job. But since Jane had reached out to him, he had been bothered by the conversation more than he would like. She was an enigma, this Jane Smith. In the past, Nick had often felt some kind of empathy with the victims in his cases, as well as their families. But no one had ever done the same for him. Not really. Yet she had seemed to understand. She had appeared to know just how he was feeling.

The truth was, she was right. He hadn't grieved. Not really. He'd just been so angry. Nick knew it had been too long. But he just couldn't bring himself to face the reality – that not only Warrick was gone, but the reason for it had been because someone had abused the trust people placed in him for his own gratification.

Nick shook himself mentally and focused on what Greg was saying. The DNA results had come up with something. Not the actual killer, but a family member. There were several points in common with someone who had been convicted on sex offences. All they had to do now was find that person's family member and match it up with the DNA results. They had a lead. And a good one.

Jane returned to Doc Robbins' office to hear what he had to say. When she saw his expression, she knew his news wasn't good.

"You're right," he said. "There's no file."

"But can you tell me if the autopsy was done?"

"It was. I spoke to the medical examiner on the case. What you were told by the doctor at the charity hospital was the same as what he told me. She had massive internal injuries resulting from several blows to the torso."

"In other words she was beaten before she died. Is it possible this beating caused the stillbirth?"

"Well, it wouldn't have helped. And it would have brought on premature labour."

Jane nodded. "So now the question is, who would have taken the file? Who would have wanted this girl to disappear?"

"Only staff in the lab and police have access to those files."

"Unless you're a hacker," a voice spoke behind Jane. She looked around at Nick, who was glaring pointedly at her. She grinned unrepentantly.

"I get bored sometimes," she said. "That happens when you're a genius."

"It's also against the law," he pointed out.

"Ah, but if I hadn't, then you wouldn't have known the file was missing, would you?"

Nick lounged casually against the door frame. "I'm sure we would have found out eventually." He glanced up at Al. "Sorry doc, but I need to speak with Ms Smith."

Jane rolled her eyes. Again with the emphasis on the Ms. She glanced back at the doctor.

"Thanks for your help doc. I'll be in touch if I need any more."

"Tell the parents I'm sorry for their loss. And that I couldn't do any more."

She smiled sadly. "Me too."

She got up and followed Nick out of the office. Once they were out of earshot of the coroner's office, he grasped her arm.

"Look, you want to play these games, fine. But you pull any more stunts like that ..."

"Oh, don't pretend you're pissed at me for hacking into your system. Like I said, if I hadn't, you wouldn't have known the file was missing. And I wouldn't have got the information any other way. You people are notoriously tight-lipped when it comes to talking to reporters."

"But you said you're not a reporter."

"Like I said, it was a convenient cover. What did you want me to say? That I work for an independent organisation that sometimes works outside the law? You already know that. At least with the cover, it sounds legal and above board."

Nick sighed. "Fine. Whatever. I thought you'd like to know you're off the hook for the murder."

"I didn't know I was still on it," she said loftily. "What did you find?"

"Epithelial. We're tracking the guy through a relative. A convicted sex offender." Nick didn't know why he was telling her this. Normally, it wasn't the sort of information they gave out to the public. But she had trusted him with what she knew. He guessed he should return the favour.

"Why am I not surprised?" She looked steadily at him. "Look, I think you should be aware. This whole thing smacks of some kind of cover up. Someone took that file and made sure it was deleted from the system. And as Robbins pointed out, only a cop or one of the staff here could do it."

"What are you suggesting? Are you accusing one of us of trying to cover up a little girl's death?"

"Nick, face facts. Deleting a computer file is easy enough to do. A hacker could do it with one hand tied behind their back. But quite frankly, breaking through security systems in here is more trouble than it's worth. And no layman would go to that much trouble to make sure a girl like Nicole disappeared. It has to be a cop. It has to be someone with easy access."

She left him then, extracting a promise that he would call the minute he had more information. Nick turned and left, seeking out Brass who was preparing to visit the address of the sex offender's brother.

"I'm coming with," he said.

"Nicky, I don't think it's a good idea. You've been working on this for three days straight. Go home and get some rest."

"Hell no," he said. "If this is our killer, I want in."

Brass sighed, but nodded assent. Nick followed him out to the car and watched as the police captain drove in silence to the address. It was an apartment building in the same area as where Elliott had been found. Nick looked at Brass, who looked back at him – both sure they had found their man.

The door to the apartment was open and loud music was filtering out through the crack. Brass pulled out his gun.

"Mr Sloane? Las Vegas PD. We just wanna talk."

Nick's sharp ears picked up movement from inside and he glanced at Brass. The stockier man kicked the door open, just in time to see their quarry climbing out onto the fire escape. Brass turned to the uniformed officer beside him. "Get down to the street. Cut him off." Brass took up the chase, going to the fire escape and pursuing the man down.

Nick remained behind, looking around the apartment. There didn't seem to be anything untoward about the place, except that it was filthy. The coffee table was littered with papers and cigarette butts. Nick scrunched his nose at the foul smell of stale smoke.

He didn't touch anything, knowing they didn't have a warrant. But he continued looking around, and noticed a small room off the main one. The door was open and he glanced inside. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, he saw photographs on the wall. Photographs. His eyes widened as he took in the images, then he turned and walked out. He didn't get very far before his stomach began heaving and he vomited in the hallway.

"Nicky?" Brass was panting as he came back up the corridor. "Oh Jesus," he said, grabbing Nick's shoulders. "What is it Nicky?"

Nick couldn't talk. He just gestured for Brass to look inside. The older man glanced in cautiously and saw the images. Of children.

Brass came back out, his face green. He needed to call for a warrant. He called an officer over.

"Do me a favour. Make sure Nick gets home okay."

The officer nodded and took Nick gently by the arm. "Come on Nick. I'll drive you home."


	8. Saving a Lost Soul

Jane was eating pasta when she turned on the television. Brass was pictured, advising the public that an arrest had been made in what looked like a child pornography ring. She immediately got on the phone.

"Yeah, put me through to Jim Brass. It's personal, do you mind?" She sighed with irritation at the officer on the other end, who was refusing to put her through without a good reason.

"Fuck," she exclaimed. "Just put me through, or do I have to hack into your personnel files to get his cellphone number?" The officer told her to hold the line. A few minutes later she was connected to another phone.

"Brass. Homicide."

"Your frontline man needs lessons in phone etiquette," she said.

"Who is this?"

"Jane. I saw the news. What's going on?"

"That's police business."

"Fuck, Brass. I would have thought Stokes would have told you what I was working on. What did you find in that apartment?"

Brass still refused to tell her.

"Don't make me come down there," she said. "Where's Stokes?"

"He's at home. I sent him home."

"Why?"

"Lady, I'm not in the mood for this."

"Fine. Whatever. Thanks for nothing, Captain."

Jane hung up and quickly cleared up her dishes. She then left the small apartment and drove in her Mustang to Nick Stokes' condo. When he answered her knock, she could tell he'd been drinking heavily. His eyes were also red and she wondered if he'd been crying.

"How you doing?" she asked.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Temper, temper," she said. "I heard what happened and came to check up on you."

"Really? Save your concern. I don't need it."

She pushed her way inside and saw the bottle of scotch on the counter. It was three-quarters gone.

"Have you drunk the whole lot?" she asked.

Nick grunted and flopped down on the sofa. She grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and put it down in front of him, the back facing him. She sat astride it and looked at him. They were silent for a few minutes. Then Nick sighed, breaking the stare.

"You going to tell me what happened?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's none of your fucking business, that's why."

"What did you see Nick? What's got you this upset?"

"Nothing."

She shook her head. "It can't be nothing, otherwise you wouldn't be drinking yourself into a stupor. It might help if you talk about it."

"Not with you."

Jane sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll tell you what. I'll share some of mine, and then you can decide whether you want to tell me. Deal?"

He just glared at her. Jane hadn't wanted to do it this way. Not this way. Sydney had warned her Nick might not understand. But she had to do something. He was ready to blow. She could see it in his eyes. And he was too good at his job to blow it all because he couldn't handle his grief.

"I was abused as a kid. Actually, not just when I was a kid. Practically all my life. You could say I was kept in a prison, from the moment I was born until about a year ago."

Still silence from the other end. She ploughed on.

"The people who kept me prisoner, they made me do stuff. They made me see things. Torture, rape, murder. No subject was too sensitive for them. The first time I saw someone being tortured, I was six years old. You'd think a six year old would be too young for that sort of thing, wouldn't you?"

Nick shrugged and made a non-committal grunt.

"Well, they didn't. I got upset over it and they beat me with a strap until I screamed. Then they beat me until I bled. I still have the scars. I wasn't allowed a life of my own. I was told what to do every day of my life, for twenty-nine years. They controlled everything. What I ate, where I slept. I guess you could say I was a high-functioning human robot." She paused and looked at him to see if he was taking it all in. "You know what a sociopath is, Nick?"

He nodded.

"That could have been me. I had no concept of right or wrong. If I had been left to my own devices once The Centre was gone, I would probably have become one. No conscience, no thought for the consequences. No emotion, so no remorse."

"But you didn't," he said quietly.

"No," she answered. "I didn't. Because someone cared enough about me to get me the help I needed."

Nick had picked up on something else she had said. "The Centre?"

"A research facility. They specialised in kidnapping children with unique abilities and exploiting them – turning them into something like me. Then they took what we did for them and sold the information to the highest bidder. They didn't give a shit whether the motives were altruistic or not. As long as they got paid. And people died because of some of the things we were made to do."

"We?"

"There were others like me. We were called Pretenders. We have the ability to become anyone we want to be. Anything we want to be. We can also get into people's heads. I could do your job in a heartbeat, if I wanted to."

He was nodding, and she realised he was taking it all in. How much he really understood, she didn't know.

"Look, Nick, since I got out of that place, I've had to learn a lot about human nature. And I'm nowhere near word perfect. But I remember something someone said to me. That the more you try to avoid how you feel, the more you alienate the people who care about you."

He bowed his head.

"He had photos," Nick said quietly. "Kids, as young as ten. All ... all ..."

"Brass said on the news it looked like some sort of child pornography ring. It's pretty much what I expected."

"I couldn't ... I ..."

She got off the chair and knelt down beside him.

"You couldn't handle it," she prompted softly.

"I was like them. I was molested. When I was nine. I ..."

His shoulders were shaking. He couldn't look at her, just kept his head bowed. She realised he was crying softly, trying not to let her see it was happening. Jane got up and pulled him into her arms, holding him tight as the sobs shook him. She knew it went deeper than the images he'd seen. Or what had happened to him as a child.

"It's okay. Let it go. Let it all go," she said. She rocked him gently, rubbing his back, letting him vent his grief and his anger. She had been in this position a year ago. Struggling to deal with the tidal wave of emotions that had always been denied her all her life. She had known then that she could never save herself. But she could save someone else.

She didn't know how long they sat there. An hour, maybe two. Her body was cramping, but she didn't care. He needed someone and she wanted to be there for him. After a while, she realised he had fallen asleep. She gently pushed him back to lie on the sofa and found a blanket to cover him.

Jane quietly cleaned up what she could, putting away the almost empty bottle. When she heard a light tap on the door, she went to answer it. It was Brass, with Catherine Willows.

"What are you doing here?" Brass asked.

"Taking care of Nick." She glanced at Catherine. "Jane."

"Catherine. Where is he?"

"On the sofa. Asleep. It's probably the first time he's slept in days."

"We'll be quiet then," Catherine smiled. "We just came to check up on him."

Jane glanced into the living room. He was sound asleep.

"He'll be out for a while I think. Coffee? I was making one."

"Yeah, great."

They sat at the kitchen table and discussed quietly what had happened. As the shift supervisor, it had fallen to Catherine to ensure the case was wrapped up with Nick's incapacitation.

"What was in those photos?" Jane asked.

"I think you can guess," Brass said. "Hell, even I wanted to puke after that."

"Were you able to identify any of the kids involved?" she asked.

"Some. Robbins told us you were asking about one of them. A girl named Nicole Marshall."

"Oh Jesus," she said, her face draining of colour. "No."

They nodded.

"What have you done with the son of a bitch responsible?"

"He's locked up. We'll be questioning him in the morning."

Jane breathed a heavy sigh. "Good. But I warn you. Don't let me near him because I could cheerfully throttle him with my bare hands. After what he did to that little girl ..."

Their expressions suggested they agreed with her. Jane glanced over at Nick.

"I guess you realise there's a lot more going on here than what he saw today. He's probably hidden it well."

"Not that well," Catherine said. "Trust me. I've noticed."

"So have I," Brass said. "But he never wanted to talk about it. Kept saying he was fine."

"People deal with grief in different ways. But I think he's been in denial for so long, it's just become second-nature to lie. I confronted him about it a couple of days ago and he blew his top. I guess today was just the catalyst."

"Why didn't he talk to us?" Catherine sighed.

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger than it is to family. But he's not out of the woods yet."

"Why you?"

"Maybe because I understand more than anyone when it comes to losing your soul."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Nick is in a very dark place right now. And if we're not careful, we could lose him. Not his life. But his spirit. Losing his best friend, everything else that has happened to him up until now has just added to his burden." Jane glanced at the man's sleeping form. "Nick's obviously a very sensitive guy. I could sense that when I met him. But his anger and his grief are overwhelming him."

"What are you, some kind of psychologist?" Brass asked.

She shook her head. "No. But I could be one if I wanted to," she said cryptically. "I just know what it's like to be where Nick is right now. And I'm going to do my best to convince him to seek counselling."

"I've already tried that," Catherine insisted. She had even tried to make it an order, but Nick still didn't go.

"Like I said, sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger. It's harder to hear you need help from a friend than it is from an outsider. Sometimes it takes an outsider pointing it out before they'll sit up and take notice."

Catherine and Brass left a short time later. Jane promised to keep them informed on Nick's progress. She kept watch until late, realising he was exhausted and would probably sleep until morning. She slept fitfully in an armchair, waking now and again to check on him.


	9. Beginning the Healing

Around dawn, she got up and went to check in his food cupboard. Nothing. There wasn't even food in the fridge. Sighing, Jane grabbed his condo keys and went shopping for groceries at the nearest foodmart. He was still asleep when she returned with two sacks of groceries and continued to sleep while she prepared omelettes.

The smell of the cooking must have roused him. Jane saw him sit up out of the corner of her eye and she left the stove.

"Hi," she said. "You, er, slept for about twelve hours."

"Oh," he said.

"I'm making breakfast. Omelettes. Hope you're hungry."

He got up from the sofa, rubbing at the back of his neck. He sniffed the air appreciatively and his stomach rumbled.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jane smiled. She dished up the omelettes on two plates with OJ in glasses.

For the first time in days, Nick actually did feel hungry. And the omelette looked incredibly good. He sat down at the table and ate hungrily. There were also fresh croissants with jelly and cream cheese. Nick helped himself to two.

"Thanks," he said when he finished eating.

"For what?"

"You know."

Jane smiled. "Yeah. I know. Why don't I clean up and you go grab a shower."

"No, you cooked. I'll clean up." He picked up the plates and began taking them into the kitchen, but she took them off him and shooed him to the bathroom.

By the time he came out, wearing clean clothes, she had cleaned the kitchen and had made a pot of coffee. She brought it into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Nick sat down next to her.

"Nick, don't take this the wrong way, but I think you need to see someone. A counsellor."

"You mean a shrink," he said flatly.

"Not if you don't want it to be. A counsellor can be just as good. You need to deal with this. Yesterday was just the, hmm, what's the expression, the straw that broke the camel's back?"

"Something like that," he said, sipping his coffee. "I don't know if I can."

"Look, some people take time to grieve. Some take years. But it's impacting on your work and your personal relationships."

"What personal relationships?" he said.

"My point exactly. How long is it since you've dated? Or been to bed with a woman?"

He looked at her and she grinned. "Not that I'm offering, by the way. I mean, you're an attractive guy, but I don't know, two emotional cripples in the sack? Disaster waiting to happen."

"How can you be so blasé about it? You just, I don't know, pretend not to feel?"

"There's no pretence. I just find it easier to deal with all the shit I've had to deal with. You, on the other hand, feel too much." She stopped him with a hand before he could protest. "That's not always a bad thing either, you know? Some women like sensitivity in guys. But since Warrick died, it sounds to me like you have tried to do anything but feel. And that has hurt you more."

Nick sighed and leaned back, putting a hand on his forehead.

"Maybe you're right."

"Tell me about him. About Warrick."

"What? Didn't that come up in your research?"

"I saw the biographical data. But I want to know about the man. What you think. What you feel."

Nick looked at her and began to talk about his best friend.

For the first time in years, Nick felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. Jane had been right. Not talking about it had made things worse. She was smart, brilliant, gorgeous and totally whacked. This thing she had about not feeling – it didn't seem right. But the things she had told him last night made him understand her more. She had been hurt in more ways than he could ever imagine. How was she still sane? Or maybe that was just a relative term. I mean, he thought, who was ever really sane anyway? One man's genius was another man's insanity, Nick remembered. And sometimes Grissom, for all his brilliance, could have been considered mad.

He found himself getting closer to her as he talked about Warrick. About all the things he had gone through. And she'd been right when she'd said she was a good listener. She didn't interrupt, just kept a light, comforting hand on his thigh. It spread warmth through him – more warmth than he'd felt in a long time. It radiated outward, spreading through his nervous system. She did that. She had taken the coldness in his heart away with a simple touch, a gentle glance.

Nick looked at her, his thoughts trailing away. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, pressing his lips against hers, lightly brushing them with his tongue. She didn't respond the way he wanted her to. She just let it happen, not rejecting, but not welcoming it either. When he drew back, she sighed softly.

"Nick ..."

"I know. Bad idea."

She shook her head. Nick stared at her for a moment as she looked away from him. Then she was kissing him back hungrily, her hand in his hair, reminding him how long it had been since he'd had it cut short. Jane used that to pull him closer, her mouth devouring him, her tongue snaking its way inside. Nick moaned softly, putting everything he had into the kiss. God, she was so beautiful. And she wanted him. As much as he wanted her.

But just as suddenly as she'd kissed him back, she was pulling away again. Nick sighed.

"I'm not rejecting you," she said softly, her brown eyes boring into his, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "I'm not," she repeated. "But you're in no shape to be thinking about this."

She couldn't tell him either, that by kissing him, she felt almost as if she had been unfaithful to Oliver. She could pretend as much as she wanted, but she was clearly still not over him. It would be a long time before she would be, she realised.

"Counselling," he said, confirming her earlier suggestion. He knew she was trying to do the right thing. And she was right about that as well. He needed to talk to someone. An expert. Before his emotions consumed him. But right now there was something more important than his own sanity. He wanted to ... needed to ... solve the case. Make the bastard pay for what he'd done to those kids.

"Brass is interviewing the subject this morning," Jane told him. "But I don't think it would be a good idea if you went in. Your emotions are all over the place right now." She snickered. "Hell, even I'd like to get my hands on the son of a bitch. From what you and Brass told me about the photos, I think I'd throw up too."

Nick nodded, knowing she was right.


	10. An Interrogation and Confession

Together, they made their way to the police station. They were allowed in the room next to the interrogation room where they were able to watch the interview through the three-way mirror. Brass was with Langston.

"You are one sick puppy, you know that?" Brass said, laying out some of the photos on the table. Sloane didn't even have the grace to look repentant.

"Supply and demand," Sloane said. "Hell, if there weren't a market for it, I'd be out of a job."

"They're kids," Brass said, clearly trying to keep his temper in check.

Sloane just shrugged and grinned smugly. Jane glanced at Nick out of the corner of her eye and squeezed his hand gently. She might not have a heart, but she couldn't stand to see children abused in this way. She felt extremely lucky that all The Centre ever did to her was beat her – other than what she had to do for the simulations. Even Jarod had said she could so easily have been raped, and given the way they had trained her, she would never have been able to resist.

"We know you killed Elliott. We've got DNA evidence to prove it."

"Elliott was stupid. He wanted out. I thought he was going to go to the cops."

"So you killed him?"

"Well, I didn't want to. But then I saw him arguing on the street with that reporter bitch."

Nick looked at Jane and she nodded. Clearly Sloane wasn't that smart. Elliott had told Jane nothing, but Sloane had panicked. By seeing the younger man with Jane, he'd assumed that Elliott was spilling his guts.

Jane studied the man through the glass. He was aged somewhere in his late thirties, balding, with small, wire-rimmed glasses. He was not an attractive man at all. There was also something feral about him. The way he held himself, the way he talked. It didn't surprise her in the least that he had used children for his own sexual gratification. No adult – male or female, would have found him attractive – unless they were blind!

Brass was pulling out the photo of Nicole Marshall.

"What did you do to her?"

Sloane studied the pic. "Oh, she was sweet. Pretty little thing. But she was past her use-by date."

"You mean you tossed her out in the street when you had no use for her?"

Sloane shrugged. "My clients like them young, you know?"

Nick felt sick to his stomach at that. These kids had had their innocence taken away from them and then turned away when it was decided they were no longer useful. As he listened, he learned how the whole scheme unfolded. Sloane wasn't even using his right of silence. Hell, he seemed eager to get it off his chest.

Elliott had been recruited to pick up kids in the Internet chat rooms and make friends. Once the friendship had been established, he would use what he knew about the children to draw them out, make them feel like no one else mattered. Elliott would then convince the child to run away from home – that there was someplace where they would be understood, and not judged.

Many of the children who had eventually wound up with Sloane had been scared. But Sloane was skilled at seducing the children into doing what he wanted, either by bribing them with treats, or if that didn't work, threatening their parents or their siblings. He took advantage of the children's innocence and vulnerability and before long the children were eager to please him.

When the children had reached a certain age where they were no longer 'marketable' they were sent on to various 'pimps', who paid a finder's fee to Sloane. What happened to them after that was not Sloane's concern.

Back in the lab, Archie was going over some of the computer files police had found in Sloane's apartment. Nick and Jane walked together to see what Archie had come up with.

"Hey Archie," Nick said. He gestured toward Jane. "This is Jane. She's been helping us with the case."

The Chinese-American man glanced at Jane. "Hi."

She pulled a chair over and sat down next to him.

"What have you got?" she asked.

Archie glanced at Nick who nodded it was okay.

"I've managed to get a list of some of Sloane's clients. The kids are proving to be a bit of a problem."

"Let me guess. He's used pseudonyms?"

"Yeah."

Jane looked at Nick. "I'll call Jarod. He'll have to come anyway once we find the kids."

"You really think the Foundation can handle them?"

"Jarod's the best chance they have Nick. These kids have been abused. He's already begun setting up a programme for the three we managed to get off the streets." She turned back to Archie. "Are you able to download Sloane's address book. We need names of the pimps he sold the older kids to."

Archie nodded.

Jane sighed. "It still doesn't tell us what happened to Nicole."

"Sloane or one of the pimps must have beaten her."

Jane shook her head. "I don't think so. I think there's more to this. And the key is that missing file."

"Maybe we should talk to Al again." Nick said as they sat having coffee in the lunchroom.

"We don't know exactly when the file went missing Nick. I started looking for it over three weeks ago. But Nicole's been dead three months." She sighed deeply, running a finger down her coffee cup, looking thoughtful. "There might be a way to track it though," she said. "Our guy's done a good job of covering his tracks, but I bet I could find him."

"How?"

She grinned at him. "With a little help from a friend." Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Of course, that'll mean breaking into the system again."

Nick glared at her. "Do you ever do anything by the book?"

She snickered. "Nope. Not if I can help it."

Nick was forced to laugh. She completely disarmed him with her audacity. He wished, not for the first time, that she was a little more receptive to him. He could certainly picture them together. But there was far too much clutter in his mind for him to let someone like her in. He needed to sort himself out first – give himself time to grieve for what he had lost before he could find something new.


	11. A Little Hacking Never Hurt Anybody

Jarod arrived the next day and it wasn't long before he and Brass started arguing about the best way to deal with the situation.

"My people don't have time to go looking for these kids," Brass said.

"You don't have to," Jarod told him. "I've got people who can take care of that. We just need the photographs."

"They're part of the homicide investigation. I can't just hand them over to a perfect stranger."

Jane was watching the proceedings from a distance. She smirked at Nick when he came in, listening to the raised voices.

"They still at it?" he asked with an answering smirk.

"Yeah. I thought I had it bad. Jarod and I are always arguing."

"Sibling rivalry," Nick chuckled.

Jane laughed. "You'd probably know more about that than I would. At least I'm not the baby," she teased.

They'd both talked a lot in the past day or so about their dysfunctional families. Nick loved his parents, but he sometimes felt like they didn't appreciate his decision to study forensics rather than law. But they were in Texas and he was here, in Nevada.

"God knows, I love my family," Jane sighed. "But I sometimes think they look at me like I'm from another planet or something. Or they get over-protective."

"I know what you mean," Nick laughed.

Jane looked at him. Since he'd broken down and sobbed in her arms he seemed happier – easier. He had even told her he was going to see someone. There was a counsellor retained to help staff deal with the emotional issues they faced sometimes and while he wasn't completely confident about using the woman, he knew she was discreet.

She got up from the table and crossed to him putting her arms around him and giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He looked at her, his expression a perplexed frown.

"What was that for?"

"Proud of you," she said. "I was just thinking about what we talked about yesterday. And you look ten times better than you did then."

"You were right. Not talking about it was making me crazy," he said softly.

Jane nodded. She went to gently pull away and he reached forward, kissing her softly on the lips. She responded, opening her mouth to his gentle prodding. Neither one of them had noticed the shouting had stopped in the other room.

"Ahem."

Lost in each other, they hadn't heard the door opening or the footsteps of the two men who had come into the room. Not in the least embarrassed, Jane remained in Nick's embrace as she looked at her brother and the police captain.

Jarod was glaring at Nick as if to say: 'what are you doing with my sister?' Jane took in the glare and grinned at Nick with a 'told you so' expression.

"All sorted?" she said finally, breaking the silence and turning to face her brother. Nick slung an arm casually over her shoulder, keeping her close.

Brass answered. "Your brother has managed to convince me to give him some of the photos so you can begin tracking the kids down."

"What about Nicole? We still don't know who's responsible for her death," Nick said.

Jane glanced at him. "Working on that," she said.

Nick looked at her with a grin. "Oh, yeah."

"What?" Brass said.

Nick let Jane go and walked over to the older man. "Ever heard the expression 'pulling a Schultz?'" he said.

"Pulling a what?" Jane asked.

Brass smirked at her, then put on a fake German accent. "I know nothing. I see nothing."

Jane cocked an eyebrow at her brother who was chuckling. "Television," he answered. "Let me educate you little sis," he added as he put an arm around her shoulders and walked her out of the room. He quickly explained Hogan's Heroes to her and the German sergeant who always pretended never to see what the allied prisoners were up to. She was laughing by the time he finished.

Nick was assigned to another case while Jane and Jarod continued to track down the other children involved in the pornography scam. Jane was also working on tracking the missing file and who might have done it. She was working on her laptop in the small apartment when Nick dropped by after work.

She was sitting in front of the screen, one hand pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. Nick saw that she looked exhausted.

"Have you slept at all?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm an insomniac. I'm lucky if I sleep a couple of hours a night. I did try to get a nap on the couch."

Nick glanced at it. It was a tiny, lumpy thing and he wasn't surprised that she hadn't got any sleep. He glanced at the screen. She had hacked into the archives of the system using her own software. Nick knew normally it was something she could be arrested for, but he and Brass had gone to Al Robbins with Jane's suspicions and they'd got a warrant to allow her to check the systems for that specific purpose. It worried Nick that there was a strong possibility a police department employee had been involved in the death of a young girl, but he couldn't just ignore it.

Jane had been working on the problem for the last twelve hours and she still looked no closer to finding the answers they needed. Watching her, seeing how tired she was, he suggested she take a break and he went out and got food for them both.

As they sat at the rickety table in her apartment, eating the Chinese food, he reflected on how quickly he had changed his impressions of her. Less than a week ago, he had thought she was guilty of murder. She'd been arrogant and he'd let that colour his judgement. In spite of that, she'd chosen to help him, and not just in the case. Sure, they had the same motive – to put a stop to the abuse. He felt that even though she said she had no heart, she did care. More than she wanted to admit.

He had thought about some options for tracking down the killer of the young girl.

"What about the charity hospital?" he asked. "When she was left there?"

"Thought about that," Jane said, her mouth full of noodles. "And it's great in theory. The trouble with that is the security camera wasn't working on the day. And charity hospitals don't have the funds for non-urgent repairs. So no option there I'm afraid."

"Did they take blood? Nicole? Or the baby?"

"Vanished along with the coroner's report. This guy knew what he was doing."

"Shit!"

They were both thinking it. Even if she did manage to track down the man, unless he confessed, they had no physical evidence to tie him to the little girl's death. He was more than likely going to get away with it.

Nick stayed while she went back to work on the computer. He offered her a massage when her shoulders became too sore from sitting too long and she gratefully accepted. He knew he was falling for her. Hell, he'd realised that was why she had got to him. He'd been falling for her the moment they'd met. The question was, was she capable of love? She'd already warned him several times about her choices. Would she reject it, reject him?

He planted a kiss on her bare shoulder and she stopped, turning to look at him.

"Nick," she began.

"I know," he said. "And I'm not expecting anything to happen."

She sighed and stood up to face him, taking his hands in hers. "But you want it. And I'll admit I want it too, but Nick, you know neither of us are in the kind of place where we can even consider going there." Her voice was soft as she continued speaking. "I won't lie to you. I haven't had that many relationships. Hell, the one guy I slept with, it ended badly. And I don't want that to happen with you. You're too good a man for me to ever let that happen. I don't want to hurt you Nick. And sooner or later, we both know if we let this continue, that's exactly what will happen. You deserve better than me. Someone who is capable of giving you what you need, of giving you real love, not just a facsimile of it."

His expression showed he was disappointed, but Jane was only being honest. And she knew that she just wasn't capable of loving someone. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Especially not after what had happened with Oliver. She'd betrayed him, in his eyes. Maybe he had been right. Maybe love was a concept that just wasn't in her.

Jane sighed. She didn't want to hurt Nick. She knew he was attracted to her. But he needed more than she could give him.

There was a beep on the computer and she turned back to it.

"What is it?" Nick asked.

"Got something. I used some of the software Broots designed to track any activity. It wasn't just the computer file that went missing, it was also the hard copy. So it had to be someone who accessed the coroner's office as well as the computer."

"But how does that help you track them? They may have accessed them at different times."

"Not if our guy didn't want to take the chance of being discovered. It's a pretty safe bet that he got rid of the file at the source."

Jane read through the data. Most of it was in programming language, and Nick couldn't keep up. But Jane obviously understood it.

"Look," she said, pointing out a phrase. "There's your deletion. A day after the coroner's report was filed. And it looks like it was done directly at the source." Nick watched her eyes fly across the screen as she read through the rest of the data. "And there's your access code. Fifteen minutes before the deletion."

Nick continued to watch, amazed as her fingers flew across the keyboard and she hacked into the police department staff database. She punched in the access code and it brought up a personnel file.

"Bishop," Nick said.

Officer Stephen Bishop was extremely unpopular in the department. He was arrogant, obnoxious and he had a nasty temper. Nick had once heard that Bishop had beaten the crap out of an informant for lying to him and almost getting him killed. If anyone was likely to beat up a young girl, then try to cover it up, it was him.

"It's not proof," Jane reminded him. "We don't have physical evidence. Nicole's body was cremated when no one came forward to claim her."

Nick sighed. He leaned his chin on her shoulder, feeling dejected. Jane went back to looking through Bishop's list of arrests.

"Hm, this is interesting," she said.

"What?"

"It says here he was one of the arresting officers last year for a guy named Goldie. He was one of the pimps Sloane sold the kids to."

"Hey, yeah, that's right."

"Maybe we should talk to Goldie."

"What's this we?" Nick said. "You're not even a cop."

"Neither are you, Nicky. What's the harm in having a friendly little chat with our neighbourhood pimp?"

"Depends if he's in custody," Nick reminded her.

Jane grinned and hacked into the file. "You didn't see this," she said.

"You are a bad influence," Nick grinned back. "If Brass finds out ..."

"Not if you don't tell him," she said in a singsong voice.

"Bitch," he said fondly. "I ought to turn you in."

"Goody two shoes," she retorted.

He gave her a mock offended look and she kissed him quickly before turning back to the computer.

"Out on bail." She copied down the address. "It's not far from here."

Nick watched as she got up and put on a leather jacket and her high-heel boots, grabbing her keys.

"You coming?" she said, turning to him. He got up and followed her out the door.


	12. Fact Finding Mission

Nick stood aside as she knocked on the door of Goldie's apartment. Goldie, aka Randall Goldman, opened it a crack, leaving the chain on.

"Yeah?"

"You Goldie?" she asked.

"Who's asking?"

"Name's Jane Smith. I'm a reporter. I wanted to ask you a few questions."

Nick snorted softly, rolling his eyes and she gave him a warning look.

"Someone there with you?" Goldie asked. Nick turned and stepped behind her.

"My bodyguard," Jane smirked. "Can't be too careful in this neighbourhood."

"Yeah, no shit," Goldie said. "I don't talk to no fuckin' reporters."

"Not even for a reward?"

Nick touched her arm. What the hell was this about a reward? She flapped her hand at him to tell him to keep quiet. The African-American's eyes lit up at the mention of the word.

"What kind of reward?"

"Well, that depends on what you've got to say," she said smoothly. "Can we come in?"

The man shrugged, eyeing her warily. "Yeah. Okay."

They waited while he closed the door and removed the chain before letting them inside. He sauntered through the dingy apartment as if it was a palace rather than a cockroach infested hole that should have been condemned years ago.

Jane held Nick's hand as they followed the man into the apartment.

"You wanna beer?" the chocolate-skinned man asked. Jane thought briefly he would have been quite attractive if his skin wasn't showing the unhealthy pallor of too much drink and drugs.

"No, thanks. I don't like to drink on the job." Jane glanced quickly at Nick who looked up at the other man.

"What about you man?"

"Nah, I'm cool bro," Nick said, keeping his voice casual and light.

The apartment had an almost chemical smell to it and as Nick looked around, he saw what looked like drug paraphernalia. They shouldn't be here without a warrant, he thought. Then again, as Jane had pointed out, they weren't cops. But if it should get out that they were here, without authority, they could be in a hell of a lot of trouble.

"Relax," she whispered. "This is just fact-finding."

How did she do that? he wondered. It was almost as if she could read his mind.

"So, whaddya need to know?" Goldie asked as he sat down with a bottle of beer he'd pulled from the refrigerator.

"I'm working on a story about child prostitution. A source told me you would know a lot about it."

"I ain't no pimp. So whoever told you ..."

"I never said you were," she spoke reassuringly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that. It's just, well, I was told you know the streets. You know what goes on." Oh she was a good liar. Nick watched her admiringly as the lies just seemed to roll smoothly off her tongue. And Goldie seemed to be falling for it. Hook, line and sinker. "See, I've been trying to track down this little girl. She's from East LA and her parents, well, they've been looking for her."

She pulled a photograph out of her pocket. "I thought you might be able to help me find her."

"Pretty little thing," Goldie said as he looked at the photograph. His brown eyes looked back up at her as he handed back the photograph. "I did see her around, but I haven't lately."

"How long ago?"

"'Bout a year," he said.

Jane nodded. Nick hissed softly at her. He knew Goldie was lying. He could see it in the man's eyes. He hadn't just seen her around. He knew her. Jane's grip tightened on his knee as he sat beside her, warning him not to do anything stupid.

"Do you know a guy named Bishop? A police officer?"

Goldie scowled. "Prick arrested me last year. Bum rap. Why?"

"Did you ever see him with the little girl?"

"Maybe." Goldie looked thoughtful. "Yeah. A couple of times." He studied her. "So do I get my reward?"

Yeah, you get to save your own ass, Nick thought. He still said nothing as Jane nodded at the man, pulling out a wad of bills. She didn't even blink as she handed over a thousand dollars in cash. Goldie eyed it greedily, then took it and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Thank you. You've been a big help."

Nick turned to her as they left the apartment. "That didn't help at all," he said.

"Didn't it? He was pretty quick to finger Bishop."

"How do you know he wasn't telling you what you wanted to hear? I mean, he was obviously lying through his teeth."

"Sometimes you just have to read between the lines. He was Nicole's pimp, that much is obvious. What's the chance that he offered the girl to Bishop to get himself off charges?"

"You mean, offering the kid as a bribe?"

"It gives us something Nick. You need to take this to Brass. That asshole needs to go down for this. They both do. And I'm not giving up until Nicole gets justice."

"What are you planning?" Nick asked.

"You just take care of getting Goldie to talk. I'll see to Bishop."

"What are you going to do?" he asked again.

"Best you don't know. Not yet."

"Jane ..." he began warningly.

"Trust me," she said with a grin.

"Right. Trust you. Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret this?"


	13. The Pimp Cuts A Deal

As predicted, Brass was not happy at the little fact-finding mission. But he had Goldie hauled in.

"You stay away from this Nick," Brass said. "I mean it."

"Relax, Brass. I just want to observe, that's all."

Brass glared at him. "That woman," he said, "is a bad influence on you."

Nick cracked a grin. "Yeah, that's what I said."

"But it's nice to see you smiling again Nicky. Guess she's done some good after all."

Nick stayed in the observation room while Brass had Goldie brought in. Catherine joined him just as the interview began. He glanced at his friend, who smiled at him.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"Brass is just getting started."

"I meant you, Nicky."

"I'm doing good. Cath, there's something I need to talk to you about. Later though."

"Yeah, anything good?"

"I was thinking of taking a couple of months off. You know, just to get some things sorted. Maybe go down to Texas, see my folks."

Catherine's eyes studied him thoughtfully.

"I think that sounds like a great idea Nick," she said quietly. "Seems like Jane's had quite an impact on you."

Nick nodded, watching in the glass as the homicide detective handed Goldie a photograph.

"Yeah, she's a hell of a woman."

"She got to you, didn't she?" Catherine said, her eyes sharp as she looked at him. Nick didn't reply. He was watching the pimp's reaction as Brass confronted him about the girl.

"Look, I don't know nothing about the girl."

Brass leaned back, a smirk on his face. "Yeah? Well I've got something here that you might be interested in seeing. It's a little diary which says that you paid a finder's fee for a girl matching the description of this girl in the photo. I think not only were you her pimp, but you sold her to her killer."

"What are you ... killer? I don't know ..."

"She's dead. She was beaten to death. Her and her baby. How do you like them apples, huh, Goldie? So we can get you not only for solicitation, but also accessory to statutory rape, and how about accessory to murder. A fourteen year old girl Goldie. A little girl who should have been home with her parents, worried about her grade point average. You think about that."

"I wanna lawyer. No I wanna deal. You can do that, right?"

"I don't know Goldie. You don't seem to have much to offer."

"It's that guy. That prick cop. He saw her a lot. He caught me dealing and I gave her to him so he wouldn't arrest me."

"Which cop?"

"Bishop. His name's Bishop. He's an asshole. But he took her. He took her and that's the last I saw of her."

"When Goldie?"

"About a year ago. I swear, that's the truth, man."

Nick looked at Catherine. Goldie was an unreliable witness at best, but maybe the computer evidence would help convict Bishop. He sighed, hoping that whatever Jane had in mind, it would be enough.


	14. Jane's Retribution

Jane's plan was simple. Take away everything Bishop had. She hacked into government systems and deleted everything from his social security number to any record held of him at the police department. She cut him off financially, making sure his access cards didn't work at his bank. In other words, she wiped his identity – ensuring, of course, that it could all be restored once it was over.

Discovering this, Bishop quickly became agitated. To add to his panic, Jane sent him a message on his phone, telling him if he wanted his life back, to be at a certain location. An abandoned hotel building. With Jarod's help, she had set up a video camera and audio recorder in the old lobby.

When the tall, stocky police officer arrived at the location, she could see he was armed. She stayed out of sight, projecting her voice, and using a modulator so he wouldn't pick up on her gender.

"Drop the gun," she said. He hesitated and she told him again, making her voice more forceful. As instructed, he kicked it toward her.

"Who the fuck are you," he called out. "What the hell have you done?"

"Hurts, doesn't it, having your identity wiped away. Imagine how it felt for the parents of Nicole Marshall. They never knew what happened to their little girl. There they are, at home in East LA, still wondering if their little girl will walk through that door. But she won't, will she? Because you took that away from her."

"I don't know any Nicole whatshername."

"Really? And I suppose next you'll be expecting me to believe in the tooth fairy."

"You're insane."

"Am I? Hm, I wonder what your police colleagues will think if they find out you not only like to look at child pornography, you slept with a fourteen year old girl and got her pregnant. Is that why you covered up her death? You knew they'd test the baby's blood. You knew they'd investigate. And if they checked the DNA, you knew they'd find out it was yours."

"You're bluffing," he said.

"Am I?" Jane threw a packet on the ground next to Bishop's feet. "I've been to your apartment Bishop. I've seen what's on your hard drive." Brass had obtained a warrant and had sent an officer with her to take the hard drive and download whatever she found relevant to the case. "Does it give you a rush?" she accused, hurling more accusations at him.

"Stop it!"

"Why? Does it bother you? Pick up the envelope asshole! Take a look at those pretty pictures. All screen shots of exactly what's on your hard drive. Exactly what I've sent to your colleagues. Do you know what they do to child abusers in prison?"

"Stop it!" he said again, clearly rattled.

"Is that what Nicole said to you when you were beating her? Did she beg for her life? For her baby?"

"I wanted to kill the baby, not her. I told her to get rid of it, but she wouldn't. Stupid little bitch. She wanted it. She said we could be a family."

"She was fourteen years old you son of a bitch!"

"I didn't know that," he screamed. "Not then."

"Not when you took her?"

"She was just a hooker when I ..."

"She was sold into slavery. You have a duty to uphold the law, to protect the public. You could have helped her."

"I didn't know," he said, beginning to sob.

"But once you did know you couldn't go back, could you? You knew your career would be over once they found out what you did. And then when she told you she was pregnant, it became one problem after another until finally you couldn't take it anymore and you beat her."

"It would have ruined everything. She ruined everything," he sobbed.

"So you beat her. Then you left her at the charity hospital. Alone. No one gave a damn about her. She gave birth alone and she died alone. But you didn't stop there."

"No. I deleted the coroner's report and I took the hard copy. I took the samples from the hospital. I didn't have a choice."

Jane walked toward him, taking off the modulator. "There's always a choice," she said as he stared up at her from the floor. "Unfortunately for you, it was the wrong one. And a young girl and her innocent baby daughter paid the ultimate price, didn't they? You son of a bitch!"

The door to the hotel opened and Brass walked in.

"You're under arrest," he said to Bishop. "For the murder of Nicole Janine Marshall."

He glanced at Jane, who had taken the disk from the camera. She handed it to Brass. He nodded slightly, acknowledging the role she'd played.


	15. Hopeful Future

Jane and Jarod spent two more weeks in Las Vegas, locating the rest of the children who had been Sloane's victims. There were twenty-five in total, out of forty. Some, they learned, had died from drug overdose or accidents. Others, like Nicole, had been murdered by their pimp or by a 'client'. There was no justice for some.

Jane called in to the crime lab to see Nick. Catherine came out to meet her.

"Nick's on leave," she said. "But I think he's still in town. Although not for long. He was planning to go see his family in Texas."

"Oh," Jane said, looking at the older woman.

"He told me you convinced him to see the counsellor. I don't know how you did that but ... thank you."

Jane nodded. She left the lab and visited Nick's condo, but he wasn't there either. The place didn't seem to be tightly locked up and she hoped she wasn't too late to catch him. She hadn't seen him in the two weeks, having been busy tracking down the youngsters and getting them organised.

On a hunch, she went to the cemetery where she knew Warrick Brown was buried. When she saw his dark head beside the grave, she knew her hunch had been right. He was kneeling down, his gaze on the headstone of his friend. 'Warrick Brown, 1971 to 2008'. She didn't bother reading the rest of the inscription.

"Hi," she said softly.

Nick looked around and got up, going to pull her into his arms. She submitted to the hug. He pulled away, looking down at her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I, er, came to say goodbye," she said. "We're leaving tomorrow. Going back to LA. We'll be taking the kids back with us."

"Oh."

Jane sighed. "I didn't want to leave like this. I do care about you Nick. As much as I'm capable of caring about anyone. But I don't want to make a promise I can't keep. I don't know when I'll be back in Vegas. If at all. My job ... well, I'll have to do a lot of travelling."

"I understand," he said. "And I do understand what you're trying to tell me." He rested his cheek against her shoulder. "I hate what that place did to you. But maybe one day you'll be able to see that I think you are what I deserve. You'll see how amazing you are. To go through all that and still want to help. That's the most amazing thing about you." He lifted his head and held her gently away from him, smiling down at her. "I don't know how you did it, but you saved me."

Jane smiled back at him and this time he was happy to note that the smile did reach her eyes. But there was still sadness there, and a guarded look about her. One day, he thought, that won't be there. One day, he hoped, she would think of him and smile. For real.

She kissed him then, a kiss that said all the things she could not say in words. A kiss of friendship. A kiss of hope. Maybe one day, things would change. She didn't know if she could love him. Not the way she had loved Oliver. But who knew what the future could bring?

"Maybe one day," she whispered, "you can save me."

THE END

Next - The Hunters and the Pretender - A Supernatural/Pretender crossover


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